the 50th week

We had some good times.

Monday. I ran by work to do the order and got coffee at The Anchor and lunch at Dusmesh before meeting up with Blake at Park Avenue to do some cleaning. Jennifer came over, and we drank beers and fixed dinner: baked pork chops, red potatoes and asparagus, slices of a garlic loaf and brown rice. “I enjoy our talks,” she said, “because you actually listen to what I have to say.” Is it virtuous to find other people more interesting than yourself? I spent the evening with the Usual Crew at Winton Ridge. John and Brandy are letting me crash in the guest bedroom since my apartment in Covington isn’t getting electric until Thursday. We played Mario-Kart and watched the most recent episode of The Walking Dead. I went to bed thankful for so many great friends; I’m both lucky and blessed, even if I feel the opposite sometimes.

Tuesday. Miranda and I opened, and we put Spotify on an album entitled “Divided and United,” period pieces from The Civil War set to modern music. We’re both history nuts and we loved it. I spent the afternoon dicking around with Amos before heading up to Traci’s place in Mason for a night of Mario-Kart and dinner at Frisch’s (I love their onion rings). Back at Winton Ridge, John, Brandy, Amos and I stayed up late playing Call of Duty.

Wednesday. I took Amos to work downtown, swung by 6^th and Vine for coffee, and spent the afternoon reading and writing at Winton Ridge. My shift with Walk of Joy was cancelled, so I went on a prayerful walk through the woods behind the farmhouse, following the winding creek and climbing through the ravines and stumbling through the ruins of the 19^th century dairy farm. I love praying in the solace of nature. I picked Amos up from work, and we went by The Anchor before heading downtown for drinks at Rock Bottom with Eric & Tiffany (and the tiblets, of course), Sarah and Brandon, and Tori. Andy came, too. “He’s alumni!” I exclaimed. “I retired,” he laughed. Amos and I returned to his place after Rock Bottom for an evening of Mario-Kart 200cc with John and Brandy. They went to bed, and Amos and I stood out on the balcony drinking beers and talking church and spirituality, a conversation that somehow dovetailed into me telling him how I used to play The Sims and be a serial killer, locking my neighbors in cells and slowly starving them to death and then keeping their urns in a trophy room. “Microsoft, Man.” He laughed so hard he collapsed and promptly puked, and that just about rounded out the night.

Thursday. I worked on the farm with Ben and Jason, and then I ferried more things to the new place in Covington. The electric was turned on, and I cranked up the heater to dispel the late autumn cold. I spent the evening hanging out with Corey & Mandy, Ams, and Lane; we went to a bar down the street from Bakewell. Ams and I got long island iced teas, and Corey bought some cigarettes off another patron so we could smoke. We hung out back at Bakewell for a while, toying around with Gizmo and Hobbes, John’s cats. I headed back to my place on Scott Boulevard, and I broke in my first night well with a hot bath in the porcelain, clawed-foot tub with Radical Face playing on the IPOD dock and all illumined by the glow of oil lanterns. “Now that you have electricity you don’t need the lanterns,” Ams said; but I’m probably still going to use the lanterns. It’s colonial.

Friday. Eric and I opened at Tazza Mia, and then I went by Park Avenue to go through the kitchen with Blake. I lugged groceries and kitchenware to Scott Boulevard, and then I headed up Interstate 71 for a work meeting with Walk of Joy in Blue Ash. I picked up dinner from Rally’s afterwards and joined Frank & Rebecca at Winton Ridge for an evening of Mario-Kart 200cc with them, John & Brandy, and Amos. The drive home was long, quiet, and cold. It was one of those nights when you wish you had someone to talk to. That person for me used to be the Wisconsinite, but... yeah.

Saturday. I went to The Anchor to do some writing when I woke up, and then I worked from noon to midnight with various shifts with Walk of Joy. I was able to squeeze in a quick dinner and coffee at IHOP off Ridge Avenue before my last shift. I was planning on going to a party at Bakewell, but a light snow fell and of course there was an accident on Southbound 71, and I was stuck unmoving in traffic for about an hour before illegally driving up an on ramp and taking back-roads to Interstate 75. I didn’t get home until about 1:45 AM (a twenty-minute commute escalated to nearly two hours), and I collapsed exhausted in bed and promptly passed out.

Sunday. I didn’t have time for The Anchor before church at U.C.C., and after church I treated myself to Dusmesh. I spent my afternoon reading—finished two books: E.M. Bounds’ The Necessity of Prayer and Jeff Shaara’s The Rising Tide—and then worked 4-midnight in Blue Ash. I returned home to a quiet apartment, lit some oil lanterns, did some light reading (I’ve been plowing through the Pauline epistles, and have saved the Corinthian correspondence for last; always a good read). It was a sad evening, just thinking a lot about life, the Wisconsinite, the unending pattern of disappointments. I’m sure the pattern will break, eventually, or at least I tell myself that. Underscoring it all is the loss of all correspondence with her. Over a week ago I ran into Carly at Rock Bottom, and we talked about hanging out, but the moment I asked when we should hang out, I got the silent treatment. Life’s like that: some people just decide their life is better without you in it.